


Kiss Me I'm S**tfaced

by Morgawse



Series: The bitter then the sweet [7]
Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alcohol, Blow Jobs, M/M, Masturbation, Recreational Drug Use, Semi-Public Sex, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-26
Updated: 2018-07-26
Packaged: 2019-06-16 08:49:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15433371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morgawse/pseuds/Morgawse
Summary: Gerard’s an ex-rock star turned graphic gothic horror writer who regularly drowns his sorrows at the local live music venue, while trying to keep his previous identity under wraps.  Frank’s running shifts at the local diner and Gerard’s favorite bar to try and make ends meet after being kicked out of his punk band, just as they were starting to make it.  What happens when the two meet at said venue. Will Frank recognise Gerard, and do I hear those infamous cheesy words … “Dudes I’m getting the band back together”? Join Frank and Gerard on the ride and find out.





	Kiss Me I'm S**tfaced

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, so I am finally back with the last part of this series. My brain decided on having a vacation, so doing anything other than existing was a major struggle for the last few months. Hopefully I am back to writing regularly now, but no promises!
> 
> If anyone is still reading this stuff - welcome back. If this is the first time reading my witterings, then please check out the others in this series.
> 
> I think I got most of the typos or other errors, if not then apologies.

*Gerard’s POV*  
It was my usual haunt, the Panic! Room. The name suited the bar and its owner, Brendon. As the door swung open, the disgusting odour of stale beer, sweat and bodily fluids drifted into my nostrils. Scanning the room, I made my way to what Brendon referred to as “Gerard’s Seat”. A stool at the furthest end of the bar from the door. 

Ryan was there grinning like an idiot as I took my place and immediately grabbed a book of matches from the counter. “Usual?” He was already taking the top off a bottle of beer and reaching for the whiskey to complete the chaser. 

Yup, I thought to myself; I probably come here too much. I'm as much a part of the furniture as the bloody stool on which I'm sitting. 

Although it looked and smelled like a shitty dive bar, the Panic! Room was the best venue to hear live music for miles around. I had even played there once a good few years ago when Mikey and I were in that one hit album band I never mention. I had not thought about the group in a while. Had not seen Ray or Bob in ages either. I believe that the last time I saw Ray he had finally forgiven me for breaking the band up. It was not me that whole screaming post-hardcore punk thing. My great musical loves were more Queen, David Bowie and 90s Britpop, did someone say Pulp or Common People? There had always been something missing from the band. Ray swore it was a rhythm guitar. I never knew.

“Another?” Ryan was still wearing that shit-eating grin as he pointed to my empty beer bottle. I hadn’t clocked how fast that chaser had gone down.

“Yeah, line ‘em up for me. I'm here for the duration!" Well, what else do you do but drown your sorrows when you have got writer’s block. You try to dye your hair to take your mind off it, but it only takes to the roots, leaving you with black locks and teal roots. Brilliant look. Fantastic day!

“Sweet. Got some pop-punk band from Texas playing tonight. The lead singer is supposed to be hilarious. Prides himself on telling bad jokes between songs. Never heard of them myself. Bloody stupid name – Bowling for Soup!”

“Says the man who named his boyfriend’s bar the Panic! Room – exclamation point required,” I shot back. No idea why I was defending these guys. Had not heard of them either. But Ryan could be irritating when he was in this kind of mood.

“You've seen the panic that ensues when Bren says the bar's closing, haven't you? I mean it's not as if you've ever been seen scrambling to get that last shot, have you?”

Insufferable little shit. “Just line those beers and whiskeys up, Ryan. Then go away and annoy some other poor loser…Fuck!” I had let the match I was playing with burn down to my fingers.

“Hmm, I think I’ll let the new guy deal with you tonight.” Ryan pretended to be offended, stuck his tongue out and then flashed that annoying grin at another customer.

*Frank’s POV*  
“Fuck, shit, fucking bollocks!” How had I managed to oversleep? There was no way I was going to get to the bar in time for my shift’s start. I looked at my phone convinced I had set the alarm. I know I sleep the sleep of the dead, but surely, I had not slept through an alarm? I stared at the screen incredulously. Dumb fuck that I was, I had not set the alarm for 5.30pm, I'd set it for 5.30am. Some fucking use that would be. I had to be on my way over to the diner by then, so I could spend the early shift pretending I had not just spent the entire night as a bartender at one of the local dive bars. The diner’s owner had a real thing about alcohol. There was none on the menu, even in the evening. I could not fathom how the place stayed open with that and all his other little quirks, but I guess there was enough else about it, coupled with an excellent location that kept it afloat. Or it could be the way he advertised by trading on past glories – the place had once been featured on one of those TV cook shows that showcases diners, small restaurants and dive bars across the country that offer “special” dishes. I very much doubted the food there had ever warranted that sort of attention, but it was edible.

I rolled off the mattress onto the floor before attempting and failing, to ‘nip up’ to my feet WWE style. Accepting defeat, I turned my attention to the dilemma I now faced. I did not have time for a shower, but I needed a shower. So, the debate was arriving ‘just late’ loaded up on deodorant and the remnants of Shaun’s body spray to cover the stench; or arriving ‘fashionably late’ showered and fresh. By the end of the night I would be smelling of beer, sweat, and god knows what else given that there was a live band playing, so it would be busier than on my previous two shifts. I would rather not start that kind of stint already reeking of sweat. Shower! 

I was surprised that the electricity was still running. The electricity bill was in Shaun’s name, he had been gone for months, and I could not afford to pay it. But that small mercy meant I could still have a hot shower. Thankfully the water was included in the rent, which I did pay. That was where all my money went now there was only me in the apartment. Well, it was not entirely correct that all my money went to rent. A real creative needs a little something other than beer to keep the juices flowing. So yes, what did not go on rent pretty much went on weed. I usually managed to blag food at the diner and was hoping as time went on I could blag beer from Brendon like I had Joel at the last bar at which I had worked. Should be easy enough, Brendon never paid us the last time I played there, when I was still in the band. 

No time to luxuriate in the shower though, so I turned the heat up as far as it would go, steeled myself for the scalding temperature and stepped in. I knew I was slightly stubbly by now as I had not shaved the day before, but that would just have to be my “rugged” look for the night. Shaving would take too long. Not like anybody in the bar was going to give a shit anyway! Wrapping a towel around my waist as I got out of the shower, I rubbed the mist off the mirror. I managed to make a passable job of my eyeliner but gave up on doing anything with my hair - it would have to dry by itself. 

Underwear, T-shirts, jeans, hoodies were all lying in a heap on the bedroom floor with the rest of my belongings. Shaun had sold his furniture for tour money, and I had never had any seeing as I couch surfed. Once dressed, I grabbed my phone, hoping that my sneakers, keys, and earbuds were by the front door, not some other magical place my weed-addled brain had decided would be more suitable before I hit the sack earlier. By some miracle, they were there. 

I now saw one of the fatal flaws in my shower plan – to arrive “fashionably” but not “sack my ass” late, I would have to walk exceedingly fast or, god forbid, run. It seemed I was doomed to start work sweaty. Next decision, skulk in quietly around the back to the employee's entrance, hope no-one notices me sneaking in; or walk in boldly through the customer entrance, perhaps grab empties off a couple of tables to make it look like I had started on time and was merely doing a sweep of the room for glasses. The latter was more me, although it would seem a tad strange if I were still wearing my hoodie & earbuds. Hey, I’d figure out what to say if anyone asked what was going on.

*The Panic! Room – Frank’s POV*  
Huffing, puffing, and wheezing like I smoked 60 a day, I arrived only 15 minutes late. Not bad! If only I did not feel like my lungs were about to burst. I was sure that my face was bright red, putting my cunning plan of brazening it out through the front door further in jeopardy. To hell with it! Come on Frank, show some balls. 

I quickly pulled off my hoodie, tying it around my waist. I stuffed my earbuds in my pocket. Took one big gulp of air to calm my breathing and swung the door open. I did not risk looking at the bar. I strode quickly through the room scanning for any empty bottles or glasses. Just my luck, the place was still too empty for there to be any.

If I were a normal human being, I would have simply lifted the flip-up when I reached the bar. But I'm not. Instead, I vaulted over it, landing none too gracefully but without faceplanting the floor. 

“Aha, so you must be the new guy?”

“Er, um, yeah. Frank.” Instinctively I stuck my hand out. Long, soft fingers gently clasped my hand reciprocating the gesture.

"Gerard. I take it you're late?" He sniggered, raising one eyebrow. "The jumping over the bar and the hoodie around your waist give it away a bit. Don't worry, your secret's safe with me – if you get me another beer that is!”

“Coming right up.” As I handed him the beer, I got my first real look at him. Amazing hazel eyes, finely chiselled features with a sort of feminine beauty. The hair was an interesting choice with those teal roots. Was that a deliberate choice? Hell, I could not really pass judgement on anyone’s chosen hairstyle after some of my previous looks. “You here to see Bowling for Soup?”

“Nah, never heard anything by them. I’m what you might call a regular. I’ve known Brendon since he opened this place.”

Crap. That was a close one. Good thing I got him the beer.

"Uh, by the way, Frank, Ryan is pretending to be mad at me. He suggested that you ‘take care of me' tonight instead of him."

Yes, siree Bob, that was something I would be willing to do. The more I looked at him, the more I was sure I recognised him. No idea where from. "Awesome. Let me know when you need another round." Tonight could be interesting.

*The Bowling for Soup Set – Gerard’s POV*  
“….so why don’t you…..stay." The final notes of their opening song faded away. "Hi, New Jersey! We're Bowling for Soup from Denton County, Texas. Tonight, we're going to sing you the songs people didn't like. Any requests?" The lead singer held the mic out over the audience. A noticeably vocal group at the side of the stage started chanting something I could not quite make out. Putting their hands to their ears, the lead singer and the bassist pantomimed that they too could not hear what the crowd were asking for. 

"Uh, Jaret looks like we've got some oldies over there," the bassist chuckled pulling the mic back towards the stage so that everyone could hear him.

“If you’re here for 1985 you’ve got just under an hour to wait. Hang on in there.” Jaret quipped.

“Spoiler alert!” 

“No, not a spoiler, just sayin! Anyway, this one’s called Punk Rock 101……She works at Hot Topic, His heart microscopic……”

I turned back to face the bar, reaching for my next round. Frank had already set it up. Was that what Ryan had meant when he said they were ‘hilarious’? I would admit that they had a goofy kind of charm, looking the exact opposite of a bunch of rock stars, more like tacky, embarrassing dad band. Who was I to criticise, I had hardly measured up to rock star standard myself, even after my one mega chart success. They were not crap enough to make me leave, and I was getting drunk enough not to care how good or bad they were, so I carried on drinking.

To be fair to the band, it did get funnier as the set progressed. Hilarious - no. My cup of tea – no. A fun band if you were into that kind of thing – yes. Giant sombreros had appeared on stage at one point. Judging by the crowd's reaction, this seemed to be a tradition of sorts. The bit that truly got my attention, and had me laughing was the inflatable sheep, which Jaret had killed as part of some Monty Pythonesque ritual sacrifice. Needed to remember that if I ever add humour to my graphic novels.

Out of nowhere, I felt a tap on the back of my hand. It was Frank, smiling shyly.

“I’m coming up on my break. These guys have about another twenty to go. Brendon’s got a licence to stay open late tonight, so we’ll be open for another hour after they finish. Want to go out back for a smoke? Noticed you playing with matches, so kinda assumed you smoke.”

“Sure,” I replied slipping down off my stool and making my way behind the bar as Frank held the flip-up for me.

*The alley behind the Panic! Room – Gerard’s POV: Part 1*  
In all the time that I had been going there, I do not think that I had ever been behind the bar, not even the car park. Do you think that with the amount I drink I would ever drive, unless I were a masochist who likes having to retrieve their car the following day? Yanking a packet of cigarettes out of my pocket, I held it out to Frank. He swapped my smoke for one of the two bottles of beer he was carrying. No point asking who was paying – I suspected I was! 

“So, Gerard, how do you know Brendon?” Forward opener, I mused. Did I really want to let on? It suited me that of the staff and regulars, only Brendon and Ryan knew about my past.

“Oh, we go way back.” That was the truth. “I used to live in a place that was just around the corner when Brendon started the Panic! Room.” That was also the truth. I simply omitted the part about me being in a band and having played there live.

“Oh, ok. Cool.” Frank paused, was he going to probe some more? Instead, he changed tack. “You ever see me play here? I used to play in a band called Lowood Institution.”

“Can’t say I remember. But I don’t always do the live shows.” Too many memories.

“Huh. Not all that surprising that you don’t remember, we never had our own shows. We were the opener a couple of times. We also did that tribute to post-hardcore thing that Brendon did a few years ago. We covered a song by The Used. “

That was a coincidence, wasn’t it? The Used? A part of my past I wasn’t exactly proud of, my relationship with Bert McCracken. I tried to keep my face neutral, but an involuntary shiver raced through my body at the thought of how public the toxicity of that relationship had become.

“Certainly wasn’t there for that show. Not my thing.” Partially true, Gerard, I silently scolded myself for dancing around the issue to disguise my discomfort with anything to do with Bert or The Used. “Might have been there for one of your others though, who knows?”

“Here, have this.” Frank was now holding out what looked suspiciously like a joint.

“You sure?” Not that I was going to say no.

“I insist Gerard,” Frank grinned bowing slightly as he handed it to me. “I find it helps me get through crazy shit like this place.” I noticed a slight tinge of something to his voice as he said that last sentence.

“So, Frank, you said used to be in a band. What happened?”

“They threw me out. Right before Taking Back Sunday asked the guys to open for them. They said I wasn’t taking it seriously enough. That and er, well, they were all fed up with getting kicked by me or being hit in the face with my guitar when we played live. Not intentionally,” he added hastily.

I could not help but laugh. “Please tell me more about your stage antics.”

“I get so pumped up there that I get sorta hyperactive. I also then seem to lose all sense of space and distance.”

“Hmm. I can believe that from your attempt to disguise being late earlier this evening. So, apart from covers what did you guys sound like?”

Frank reached for his phone and found a couple of tracks. He played a snippet of each. The sound was fast-paced, raw, laced with distorted guitars and a lyrical vulnerability that surprised me. “So, who is the singer?”

“Me, of course!”

"Uhuh. You were jumping up and down in the studio when you recorded the vocals, weren't you? I can hear it in your breathing." Stupid. Fucking stupid Gerard. If he were fishing before, he would be able to bloody well reel you in now.

“You know something about singing? Ever been in a band?”  
Was that recognition I saw? I had given myself away. “Um, yeah. My brother and I were, once when we were a lot younger.” True – I hoped that the ‘a lot’ put him off, but it didn’t.

Frank bent in towards my ear, quietly uttering those words I dreaded hearing. “You ARE Gerard Way of Your Poisonous Decadence!”

I wanted to deny it, but let’s do the math here: how many Gerard Ways are there that live in New Jersey, used to play in a band with their brother and twitch at the mention of The Used? I don’t know of any others!

“I knew it,” Frank crowed before I had even answered. “I knew I recognised you. It’s ok; your secret is safe – so long as you meet me back here after the bar closes tonight to talk some more.” The bastard was using my own words from our introduction earlier against me. I could easily laugh it off, reject him and go on with my life. Except that he intrigued me.

“Ok. I’m going back in. See you in there.”

As I walked back inside, I heard, “You were truly, exceptionally good you know. Guilty Rosary was my favourite song.”

*The alley behind the Panic! Room – Frank’s POV: Part 1*  
I needed a way of finding out where I recognised Gerard from. It did not even cross my mind that I might want to get to know him better. Ok, I lied! Of course, I wanted to get to spend time with him – he was smokin’ hot. Ha, smoking. It dawned on me that, smoking was my way in. He had been playing with matches the whole evening. I reckoned he had to be a smoker.

Watching his reactions to the band, I guessed he would not mind missing some of their set. If I needed to loosen his tongue a little bit more to get the details out of him, then there was always the possibility of sharing one of my two remaining joints. If I have my mind set on something, I do not give up until I get it. Solving the Gerard mystery, and hopefully having a little bit of fun along the way, was my current target.

He agreed with my suggestion. I snagged a couple of bottles of beer on my way out. Hell, he was going to need another one and probably would not notice me adding one for me to his tab as well. So, there we were the two of us alone in the alley. I had to remind myself to keep it clean. No trying for the physical stuff just yet. I had to know. An inkling was stirring in the back of my mind. That name - Gerard – not exactly common, but it could not be, could it?

Maybe launching straight in with how he knew Brendon would yield a clue. It was not the subtlest approach, but subtlety has never been a strong point. I had to start digging somewhere, right? God was I going to be bummed if it turned out I did not know Gerard from anywhere. As it happened his story was totally believable if a little mundane. Made perfect sense that if you lived around the corner from a bar like this, it would become the place you hung out.

I needed to change direction. If I opened up a bit, told Gerard something more personal, perhaps he would too. Lowood Institution was the way to go. Admitting that you got kicked out of your own band was sort of humiliating. Too much so to lead with the details. After what felt like millennia to me, but really was only a few seconds, it clicked. I could tie everything back to the Panic! Room! I told him how Lowood had played there a few times. Carefully omitting that on one occasion, in only a four-song set, I had taken out the drum kit and given Shaun a cut above his eye with my over-exuberant stage performance. Yeah, I also neglected to add that I managed to forget the words to a The Used cover we did at a special post-hardcore tribute event, because I was pissed no-one would let us use anything by my favourite band of that era, Your Poisonous Decadence, so had not bothered to learn the words properly.

Subtle I may not be, but I am observant. Hypervigilance and keen observation skills come with chronic anxiety – you have to assess where the next life-threatening menace is going to come from before the whole world spins out. It may have been a micro-movement, but I swear I saw him shudder slightly when The Used came up. Reaction to The Used, called Gerard, long-time association with a live music venue owner. I was right! Oh, my fucking God, I was right! This was the man who I had idolised before he went and fucking blew the whole thing up almost as soon as it had started. I wondered if I could get him to admit to it without me having to call him out. It would be far more exciting that way. I am a devious motherfucker when I am on a mission, so it would not be that hard. Time for a joint, I thought.

As I handed it to him, he laid the trap for himself, by asking me more about the band. Trying desperately to keep my excitement in check, I glossed over the gory details as I told him the edited version of why the guys had chucked me out. I found a couple of recordings I still had on my phone. I had deleted most of it in a fit of pique, sort of like cutting my nose off to spite my face. At least I did have them though. It was here that he fully gave himself away, the way he questioned me about the singing – you had to have recording experience at the very least to know that I had been making my best jumping bean impression that day. I leaned in and quietly exclaimed, “You ARE Gerard Way of Your Poisonous Decadence!” Now I could move onto phase 2 of my plan – getting my hands on his hot body after closing time.

*The alley behind the Panic! Room – Gerard’s POV: Part 2*  
Common sense told me to go home when the Panic! Room closed. I refused to listen. I had the opportunity to spend more time with Frank. He intrigued me. The bonus, it allowed me to continue drinking while kidding myself that I was not some lush drinking into the early hours by himself. So, I sat at the bar nursing my last shot of whiskey as Frank, Ryan and the rest of the staff set things straight for the next day, while Brendon cashed up.

“Hey, Bren. There’s not much left in this bottle. Add it to my tab. I’ll settle with you next week when my advance on the new book clears.”

"Ha, looking at your tab, that whole advance is going on it! Unless you're getting some serious money for that weird shite you write."

"More than I like to let on," a smug grin spread across my face. It worked to my advantage to play the struggling author, but the graphic novel market was buoyant right now. The previous parts of my latest series were flying off the shelves. By luck, I had hit on a vein that resonated with readers of gothic horror graphic novels.

Taking the bottle from him, I gulped the last of my shot. “Ok if I go out through the back? Just in case the cops are cruising by. I’m sure you don’t want to risk me being seen in public with an open bottle of whiskey I bought from you. Doubt you’ve got any brown bags!”

“Whatever. Knock yourself out.”

Passing Frank on my way out, I whispered: "Me and this bottle of whiskey will be outside waiting for you and your joint." Cheeky brat grabbed the bottle from me and swigged some before returning to restocking the beers. Not sure why, but Brendon always insisted that every cleaning and restocking job was completed before locking up so that nothing would need to be done the following day before opening time. But that was the way he ran his bar. So, I would wait for Frank to finish.

One cigarette later, Frank bounded out of the bar reaching into his pockets for his other joint. The stronger one. This time we did not say much. Everything had been spoken earlier. He knew my secret. I knew his. I wondered if he would be up for something more physical. I was having a tough time keeping my hands to myself but had no idea if he was gay or bi. To distract myself I let the weed do some talking, cracking some of the stupid jokes from the BFS set. We both giggled like they were side-splittingly funny.

All of a sudden, Frank answered my question. He leaned in for a kiss. The sensation of his lips on mine caused butterflies in the pit of my stomach. I pushed back into the kiss. Frank took that as the green light for him to keep going. I was so taken aback that he had made that first move that I allowed him to take control of things. He nearly had me pinned to the wall, undressing me with his eyes. Soon his hands found their way to my hips. Then he paused. Inwardly I cursed him for stopping. He was not a cock tease, was he? Not the way he looked at me – I was sure of it. Then it happened. His mouth, my dick and the rest, as they say, is history.

What perplexed me was his refusal to let me get him off. He had some absurd idea about us ‘having' to be in a band together, saying I could repay his amazing blowjob then. He was almost begging me. Resisting the urge to laugh, I saw a way to spin this to my advantage. I punched my number into his phone, telling him to text me if he still thought it was a good idea when he came down and sobered up. Weirdly, the more I thought about it as I made my way back to my apartment, the more I saw Frank's point of view about being in a band. If I was honest with myself, I still missed it a little. I would have to wait and see if he really meant it.

*The alley behind the Panic! Room – Frank’s POV: Part 2*  
Giggling like schoolgirls we leant back against the wall, passing the joint back and forth between us. What was left of the bottle of whiskey was soon emptied and discarded on the floor at our feet. I cannot say whether it was the weed and whiskey talking, but it felt as if my awkward, jagged edges jibed with his. I had to get to know this gorgeous man, who I had so wanted to meet since his Your Poisonous Decadence days. Outrageous Frank kicked in. 

Leaning in towards him, I kissed his lips letting one hand rest on his shoulder intensifying the physical connection. My other hand pushed against the wall for support, just outside his other shoulder. To my delight, instead of resisting me Gerard pushed back into the kiss. Taking that as my signal to move in for the kill, I hooked one leg around his, effectively keeping him trapped in front of me. I began to run my tongue over his bottom lip, urging him to part those soft lips and let me in. As my tongue found its willing target, I moved my hand from his shoulder to his hair. I tugged at it gently as I ran my hands through it. My breath quickened with every passing second.

Suddenly his hands were on my hips. Little moans escaped his mouth into mine. Breaking off from the kiss, I saw the hunger that had started to form in his eyes. With a cheeky grin and lascivious wink, my hands were now snaking their way slowly, teasingly down his body. I stopped for a second at his waistband. I purposefully looked him up and down, admiring the sight that greeted my eyes. Little prick tease that I was, I was also toying with him, delaying what he no doubt thought would come next. Oh yes, that moment was coming, this may have been a quick blowjob in the alley behind the Panic! Room but I wanted, no needed, to savour this moment. I mean come on, how often do you get the opportunity to lay hands on your idol? But I could not keep either of us waiting forever. My cock was too hard, achingly so, already.

Greedily, I began to palm him through his jeans. Loving it when I heard his breath catch and felt his hips writhe slightly from no more than my touch through his clothing. My mind was fizzing at the images running rampant through it of what it would be like to fuck him. No turning back now. With a little fumbling from overexcitement, I undid his zipper and found my way to his dick. The heady aroma that greeted me made my dick twitch. Not even bothering to run my tongue around the head, I took his shaft in my mouth, sucking and pulling until his hips bucked and he mewled while the sensations in both our stomachs built. I did not want to tip him over the edge so soon. I pulled off. Saliva and pre-cum dripped off him. I took a second to recover my breath. Then I moved back in, breathing heavily, wondering if I might come just from sucking him off. Delicately I ran my tongue over his slit. I lapped up the pre-cum leaking from his cock, savouring it as I knew I would relish his cum when he finally exploded into my mouth. I looked up to see his eyes blown, mouth hanging open as he panted and whined. Soon, Gerard, soon, I thought, but not yet. Boy, I always get off on controlling these situations, but this was something else. Time to deep-throat him.

"Uh, oh my God, Frank! S-so, s-so close. I, uh…." He threw his head back, pushing his hips forward into my face. I could feel the tremors in his body increasing as my head bobbed back and forth along his shaft. All at once he tensed. My mouth filled up with that salty white liquid. I milked every last drop I could, swallowing his full load.

He wanted to return the favour, by hand or by mouth. But I declined. I could do that later for myself, the scene no longer a fantasy, but a memory. Being honest, I had ulterior motives. I can be a manipulative little shit at times - tonight was one of those times. I needed more of him. I wanted to play in a band again. So did he. I had seen the wistful look in his eyes when we had talked about Your Poisonous Decadence.

"Gerard, you can repay me when you and I are in a band together." It had sounded totally plausible in my head, but now I said it out loud it sounded utterly ridiculous. He guffawed. It was so ludicrous to link repaying a blowjob to starting a band that he did not take me seriously. "You're an amazing singer and lyricist. You’re wasted hiding away writing gothic horror. I'm an exceptional musician who got kicked out of his own band just before they got signed for their first tour. The world needs to hear both of us. Preferably together." I sounded even more preposterous as I attempted to wheedle a ‘yes' out of him.

"Frank, you are drunk, high and still have a raging boner. You are not even close to thinking straight. After that blowjob … fuck you are good with that pretty little mouth of yours … neither am I. Give me your phone."

Uh-oh, I thought, now who is taking control. That is always me. I am the one in charge, always. So why was him taking charge and speaking in that commanding tone so fucking hot? I quickly handed him my phone. He added himself to my contacts before handing the phone back to me. 

“If you still feel the same way tomorrow morning Frank, text me.”

*The morning after – Gerard’s POV*  
That early summer sun streaming in through the windows was too bright. I buried my head in the pillow. How, after all these years of drinking, had I not built up a hangover immunity? Arrghhh. That pounding headache, queasy stomach, and sandpaper throat. Shower then coffee? Coffee then shower? Start the coffee machine going, Gee, and let the magic life-giving liquid brew while you shower! Amazing, such clear thinking early in the morning while hungover. I was impressed. Padding through to the kitchen, I prayed there was some Tylenol in the cupboard. No way was I legal to drive to the drugstore yet and I sure as shit did not want to walk there.

I just stood in the shower letting the water wash over me, allowing the painkillers to make their way into my system. The heat from the water comforting me. I let my mind drift to distract myself from the hangover. All I could see was a replay of last night. His tattoos, his sparkling eyes, his cute slightly lopsided grin. I started to feel my dick stiffen as I thought of how his guitar calloused hands had wrapped around it as we embraced in the alley behind the bar. This could be a terrific way to deal with the hangover. I began to jerk myself off as I continued to let the images of Frank roll through my mind. 

Libido satisfied. Shower finished. I wandered back through to the kitchen. Coffee was ready. Aahh! Sense told me to wait before taking that first sip – but I mean please, it was coffee, and I was hung over, right? So what if it scalded my tongue. I needed caffeine. I searched through the fridge and cupboards for something to eat. What meagre pickings I found were definitely not what my delicate stomach needed right now. Food would have to wait until I could face going out.

“Ok Gee – clothes!” My mind had wandered back to the breath-taking man covered in tattoos again. I laughed at myself, having to remind myself out loud that I had been standing in my kitchen wrapped only in a towel. Wow, Frank had really sneaked past my defences. Hook-ups were one night of mutual pleasure never to be thought of again. That was the rule. Could Frank be anything more?

There was something else that I was forgetting wasn’t there? The blowjob had been mind-blowing. Damn was he good with his mouth. But there was more to it than that. Let me see if another cup of coffee can jog my memory, I mused. Of course! The whole band thing. What an idiot! Offering a place as a guitarist in a band I did not have in exchange for that blowjob. How much had I drunk? How strong was that shit Frank had? All of that aside, I was hopeful that he would say yes. Being in a band meant we could get to know each other. I remembered that I had heard my phone go off while I was in the shower. Smiling with a genuineness that I had not felt in a long time I reached for my phone. Yup, there was a text from Frank. He had said YES! Quickly before he had a change of heart, I composed a text to Ray, Mikey and Bob.

Text message: Dudes, I found the rhythm guitarist Ray always said we needed. I’m getting the band back together. You in?

**Author's Note:**

> If you made it this far, congratulations! I welcome all constructive comments. It is great to know what you thought, what you liked and what sucked ;).
> 
> I have two multi-chapter fictions started, so hopefully I will be posting the first chapters to them over the next couple of weeks.
> 
> I hang out on twitter under @morgawse_hp if you'd like to connect. I always tweet when I post something on here, and then there are the other random rants. I am always open to suggestions for one-shot ideas on Twitter - just note smut is really challenging for me, but don't let that stop you requesting it. (That statement should be obvious from the above fiction really!)


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